The Echoes of War and Blessings of Peace
by Rhiannon A. Christy
Summary: Long has it been since the Shadow over Middle-Earth been lifted, but those left behind must still deal with the scars of war. Eomer is one such man, though with peace came many blessings, for the King of Rohan his blessing is in his wife, Lothiriel. /or/ Lothiriel comforts her husband on a cold night.


A cool breeze trickled through the open shutters of the royal chambers. The gentle gusts stirred the hair that framed the King's face in a flaxen halo. Eomer closed his eyes, pressing them tightly shut until tears swelled beneath the lids. It had been long since the end of the war, long since the shadow had lifted from the lands of Middle-Earth. Still though did it haunt him. In the quiet of night he could still hear the clashing of swords and the screams of the dying. He could smell the stench of blood, bowel, and mud; he could taste it in the air. There would never be a time when he forgot the terror of that age; the death, the sorrow, or the ones lost to the darkness.

The door to the chambers opened, making no more than a whisper of a sound in the quiet twilight. Lothiriel stood just inside, her eyes fixed on the huge figure of her husband. He was a broad man, thick and powerful like the great horses his people bred. The title Horse Lord was an apt one for the men of Rohan, for they towered over all others with shoulders as wide as a horse's withers, and thighs as sturdy as their mounts. It was perhaps one of the attributes she liked best. Being from Dol Amroth, she was taller than the women of her husband's lands. Still, Eomer eclipsed her with his great size.

She watched as her husband bowed his head, the light of the dying sun making his hair look like flame against the darkening sky. She wanted to weep for him, but knew that such an action would only wound him. He had been a great warrior, and was one still. Even so, the war had taken more than lives. Those that had been left behind bore scars that would never fade. The ones that littered her husband inside and out shown brightly now.

Moving quietly, Lothiriel made her way across the room. Her slippered feet made little sound against either stone or rug, still though she could see the softening of Eomer's shoulders as she approached. Stepping up to his back, she wrapped her arms tight around his waist, her head resting gently against his spine.

"Remember the past, my love, but do not dwell there for so long, lest you forget to live." She pressed a kiss between Eomer's shoulders, her lips lingering several breaths. Many nights she had been awoken by the absence of her husband from their bed, only to find him lingering over all that he had lost. It was good that he remember, for it was by that, that the world learned and grew. Though to remain so long in such musings was to loose oneself, and make the sacrifices given worthless.

"I've not lost myself yet, and as long as I have you by my side I doubt I ever will." Eomer laid his hands upon hers against his stomach, pressing gently down. It could've been so easy to give over as so many others had done.

After the war, Eomer had watched several of his men grow mad with grief from their losses, be they loved ones or limb. Many were lost to it; more casualties of war. Some days he reasoned he deserved to suffer a little madness. He had lost his cousin, a brother in all but blood. He lost his Uncle, and feared for the loss of his sister. The throne came to him when he had no desire of it, and the pressures along with it. On those days he knew the only saving grace in his life was his beautiful wife; a woman that stood by him in support of his people, and watched over them as her own children when he was away with Aragorn in battle.

"Then what ails you? Surely the venison hadn't been that dry, that you would brood over it all night?" Lothiriel smiled when she felt her husband shake with laughter.

"Aye, and the wine had gone to vinegar…"

"And the baker used salt in the cakes?" Laughing along with him, Lothiriel pulled away from Eomer so he could turn around. Her heart lightened when she saw the bright smile that spread over his whiskered face.

"Aye, that they did." Eomer reached the short distance between them, taking Lothiriel's hands into his own. He pulled her to him, tucking her against his chest. "It is a wonder what I would do without you here to make me smile."

"Wallow away and live out your days in the stables." Curling up against her husband, she couldn't help the way her heart skipped. In the first days of their marriage she would find him hidden away with the horses, tending to them as he whispered his worries in their ears.

"It is a good thing that I married you then, you are much more pleasant to sleep beside than a horse." Eomer laughed heartily when his wife pulled back to smack him in the chest.

"You are a scoundrel at times." Sobering a bit at the lines around his eyes, Lothiriel reached up a hand to rest gently against his cheek. "And yet I do love you. It is a wondrous thing, is it not?"

Eomer leaned into the touch, his eyes closing at the warmth found in such a simple gesture. He had lost much, but he had also been blessed. The greatest of all his blessings being the woman before him. He turned his head until his lips found the soft skin of Lothiriel's palm, her delicate fingers twitching as his whiskers tickled her pale flesh. He laughed lowly, his eyes opening to find his wife flushed red with pleasure.

Moving slowly, Lothiriel slid her hand down her husband's chest until she could twin her fingers with his. He gave no protest when she led him away from the window, further into the room and away from the chill of the night air. She stopped when her feet met the soft plush of fur laid out before the hearth. Still with his hands in hers, she lowered them to the floor.

Eomer settled himself on the furs, the heat from the fire seeping into his body. He felt his blood rush through his limbs as Lothiriel edged her way onto his lap, her knees spread on either side of his thighs. His hands went directly to her legs, fingers digging into flesh and muscle when his wife parted the fabric that separated them.

Lothiriel gazed into her husband's eyes, her hands traveling up to curl around his neck. She gasped when finally she could feel him, her breath shaky as she slowly exhaled. They never looked away as they rocked and swayed to the beat of their hearts. Neither spoke, not of the war, not of those lost, nor of their pledge of love. It wasn't necessary, they could feel it in every tilt of their hips, every press of thighs.

Eomer slid his hands up her back until he could twist his hands into her hair. He pulled her closer as he edged towards the end. His mouth slotted over hers to feed her the echo of his pleasure, and so he could sip at hers. They stilled, holding tightly to each other in the quiet of their chambers.

"My dear wife, it is a wondrous thing. Though truly it is a good thing, for I do love you as well." Eomer placed his forehead against Lothiriel's. He knew that the war and the sorrow would always haunt him, but the woman in his arms would always be there to chase away the monsters that hunted him in the dark.

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Author's Note: Ok, so my first foray into writing for this fandom. I've been in the fandom for years, but never contributed to it. So, here we are. There might be a few more oneshots in this 'verse.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


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